In my first few days at Fowlers Gap in the outback, I found the vastness of the
semi-arid landscape difficult to read. At first it appeared almost
monochromatic — sweeping plains of muted colour and an overwhelming
sense of space. It took time to adjust, to slow down and surrender to what
was in front of me.
Gradually, the landscape began to reveal itself. What had first seemed sparse
became rich with subtle shifts in colour, light and texture. The more I stopped
looking for what I expected to see, the more there was to see.
Surrender and Ceremony grew from this experience. The surrender happened
in the landscape; the ceremony takes place back in the studio, through the
repeated act of returning to memory, material and mark-making. The paintings
are not intended as literal representations of Fowlers Gap, but as impressions
of a place that continued to unfold long after I had left it.
My work sits somewhere between representation and abstraction, with some
paintings more literal than others. It’s largely process -driven, creating a sense
of distance that isn’t strictly realistic. The works move beyond a single, fixed
perspective, instead layering multiple viewpoints and moments into
compressed pictorial space. Botanical elements and landscape fragments are
suggested rather than described, dissolving into fields of mark-making and
pattern
Up close, the surface invites attention to detail – a tactile jumble of marks and
textures that evokes the dryness of bush and desert earth. It’s only as you
step back that a sense of space and distance begins to emerge, allowing the
image to resolve itself. If I can maintain this type of ambiguity within an overall
readability then I am content, otherwise I will keep going until I find that state. I
aim to paint not what is in front of me but what it feels like to be in that
landscape, over time, moving through it.
Landscape painting has a long and rich tradition in Australian art, and I’ve
always admired the work of earlier generations. Living in the city, though, I
often felt limited in forming my own connection to the landscape. After
travelling to the outback last year and working en plien air, I discovered a
renewed sense of confidence and inspiration. The vastness and subtle variety
of the environment shifted my perspective. While the bush carries a certain
romantic pull in the Australian imagination, experiencing it firsthand revealed
something quieter and more nuanced. Time spent in that landscape has
become an antidote to the pace of modern life, offering a sense of calm and
clarity. I carry that feeling back into the studio, where it continues to shape
and inform my painting practice.

I began experimenting with surface at university, incorporating collage and
materials like sand and fabric – an approach I’ve returned to repeatedly over
the years. I deliberately introduce obstacles into the process to push beyond
my comfort zone and encourage a greater sense of looseness. The
disruptions break up line, build layered textures, and create pockets where
paint can settle into the surface, allowing the composition to evolve in a more
organic and intuitive way.
Using dots, strokes and drawn lines- alongside rubbed back passages and
more fluid marks, creating a balance between control and chance. This
accumulation gives the surface a sense of time, as if the painting has been
weathered or grown rather than simply composed. The result is a tactile,
intimate field that invites close looking, where dense and open areas move in
and out of the focus, echoing the rhythms and processes of the landscape
itself.